Brotherly Love
by ReluctantSlashFan
Summary: Each chapter is a different, non-paranormal moment in the Winchesters' lives.
1. The great remote dispute

**I have been working on this for a little over a year, but kept putting it off for reasons that have escaped me. But after that montage they played in the season finale, the one where it was just Dean and Sam being nothing more than brothers, I decided to take this off the shelf, dust it off, and publish it. Plus, I'm stuck in a writer's block right now for my other stories-I guess I live there or something-and really hope this helps me break it for good. I really hope you like it and please tell me what you think.**

**I'll catch you in the next chapter…**

_**Supernatural**_

**Harrisburg, Pennsylvania 1991…**

The opening tune to _Inspector Gadget_ filled the room. Sam bobbed his head to the music, singing along under his breath. Even though he knew it wouldn't happen, he hoped The Claw would get captured in this episode. But that would end the show and Sam liked watching _Inspector Gadget_.

The door opened, the crinkle of a paper bag intertwining with the voices from the show. Sam glanced up when he heard his brother say, "Hey, Sammy. Got you some food." Dean shut the door with his foot, walking past his brother to the small kitchenette crammed into the corner of the motel room they had been staying in.

Sam returned his gaze to the TV, barely listening to what his brother was doing. In fact, he had almost completely lost track of Dean's movements until his brother plopped down next to him and said, "Watcha watching?"

"_Inspector_… Hey!" Dean had picked up the remote from the coffee table, put his feet up, and flipped the channel over to MTV. "Turn it back, Dean."

Instead of answering, Dean began singing along to the Metallica song that just started playing. He turned the television up louder as Sam's complaints became louder.

"Dean," Sam screamed one last time. He sighed, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The speakers were just blaring out the chorus to _'For__ Whom the Bell Tolls', _the TV on its breaking point, when Sam's temper flared to its own breaking point. In one fell swoop, he tackled his brother both of them falling over the couch's arm and onto the floor.

"Get off me," Dean snarled trying to push Sam away without hurting him.

"Give me the remote back," Sam snapped punching anywhere his little eight-year-old fists could reach.

"You want the remote back?"

"Yes."

"Fine." And it was thrown across the room, landing in the corner in pieces.

"Nice," Sam snarled getting up. For revenge, Dean swept his brother's feet from underneath him, sending him to the floor. The twelve-year-old got to his feet, breathing heavily.

"I'm proud of you, really, but you shouldn't let your temper get to you." Dean wiped blood from his bottom lip, walking across the room to turn the television off. "If you wanted the remote you should have just asked." And with those words hanging in the air, leaving Sam with his mouth hanging open in speechless protest, Dean entered the bathroom and closed the door…

_**Supernatural**_

**The next chapter will be longer, I promise you all that. It's done, too. I just need to go over it and tweak it a little. So, until then…**


	2. The war of 1994

**I'm going to start out by saying I am not very funny. I laugh easily, sometimes at things that don't warrant laughter, but when I tell jokes they're most of the time NOT funny. So, I apologize first hand for my attempt at humor in this chapter.**

**Now that that's out of the way, I want to introduce chapter two. I ask you to leave a comment if you read this, even if it is berating my horrible attempt at humor. I would really appreciate it and updates may be faster.**

**Anyhoo, I will end by saying 'thanks for the few reviews and alerts for chapter one, I don't own these characters at all, and I really hope to catch you in chapter three.'**

**Bye…**

_**Supernatural**_

**Blue Earth, Minnesota 1994…**

Sam was vaguely aware of the bedroom door opening, but he couldn't be sure. If it was Dean trying to get him to go jogging, his brother could forget it. Sam had spent all night finishing his science project, going to bed around four. He was not in the mood to go running any time soon.

Three clicks filled the room, a tugging on Sam's wrist following. Before Sam could figure out what was up, something soft slammed into his head and a familiar voice called, "Prank war."

Sam jerked up, nearly breaking his wrist on the handcuffs that kept him tethered to the bed. His brother was leaning against the bedside table separating the two beds in Pastor Jim's spare room, a grin plastered across his face. A pillow lay at his feet as if he had just dropped it.

"What the hell," Sam grumbled lightly tugging on handcuffs.

"Prank war," Dean repeated sounding mildly irritated that he had to repeat himself.

"A prank war?"

"Jeez, is there an echo in here or something? Yes, a prank war. Starting right now."

"Dean, I don't want to…" the rest of Sam's words were lost as his brother rushed from the room laughing, the door gently swinging back and forth.

"At least give me the keys," Sam yelled trying to hold back the fury in his voice. He was totally going to kill his brother when he got free.

_**Supernatural**_

Dean was sitting at the kitchen table when Sam walked in a while later. He had managed to get loose by using a long forgotten paperclip he had found underneath his bed. He resisted the urge to shove his brother's face into the table, instead walking toward the cupboards. Pastor Jim always made sure the house was well stocked when the Winchester boys came to town. Especially since Dean became a teenager and started eating everything in sight.

Sam made to grab a box of _Lucky Charms_, but hesitated when he remembered Dean's declaration not too long ago. What if he did something to the cereal? Dean knew exactly what brand Sam preferred, and there was a fifteen minute opening for him to do whatever he pleased.

"Problem, Sammy?" Dean asked his voice cracking. Sam always had to hold back a snicker every time his brother's voice did that. Puberty sounded horrible, but it was still funny to hear Dean go through it. Still, Sam refrained because his time was coming and he knew his brother could make it a living hell.

"No," he replied closing the cupboard door and heading toward the sink. In the strainer were three bowls, two of which Sam cleaned himself the night before. So, he grabbed one of those-a blue one-and a spoon from the cutlery drawer.

He headed toward the table, surprised to see the milk already out. Sam eyed it suspiciously, a million different scenarios running through his head.

"Relax," Dean said pouring milk into his own empty glass. He chugged the beverage down, set his glass back on the table, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, "Milk's fine." He stood, taking his glass to the sink.

"Jim asked us to rinse the remaining milk out of our glasses when we're done," Sam reminded his brother, pouring cereal into his bowl. He listened as the pieces pinged off the bottom of the porcelain bowl.

Dean rolled his eyes but still rinsed the glass out. Once finished, he headed toward the back door, mumbling something about taking a walk. The door closed, leaving Sam all alone in the kitchen.

He poured milk over his cereal, the pieces waiting for the moment that they could start absorbing the liquid. He grabbed the sugar bowl from the middle of the table, scooping a spoonful from the bottom. He sprinkled the condiment over his Lucky Charms, his eyes locked on the wall as he tried to figure out what his brother did. He replaced the bowl, let his spoon pick up a generous amount of marshmallow and cereal, took a bite, and spit the contents all over the table.

"Oh my God." Someone, and Sam had a very good idea who, had replaced the sugar with salt. "I'm going to kill him," Sam murmured racing to the sink. "He is so dead."

_**Supernatural**_

Soft snoring caught Sam's attention, the younger Winchester glancing over at his brother. It was eleven-thirty, Pastor Jim normally let them stay up late on the weekends, and the two brothers had been watching some old, black and white monster movie. Sam couldn't remember the name of the film, but he was pretty sure he had seen it before. Of course, his entire life was a horror movie, so he could have been comparing the movie to that.

"Dean," he said quietly, making sure his brother was really asleep. When he didn't get a response, he felt a smile spread across his face. It was time for some good, old-fashioned pay back.

He silently slid off the couch, walking as quietly as he could to the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet over the sink, letting his eyes sweep across the contents. He found what he was looking for in seconds.

Heading back to the living room, he froze when he heard Dean move. He actually thought his brother was awake, but soon realized he was just turning over, onto his back. _Perfect,_ Sam thought with a smile. He crept across the carpeted room, stopping inches from his brother and kneeling down.

Dean's left hand hung off the couch, his right setting palm down on his stomach. Being as careful as he could be, Sam turned his brother's hand palm up. He uncapped the canister of shaving cream, shaking it, and squirted a great, foaming ball onto his brother's hand. Holding in a giggle, he recapped the canister and set on the floor next to him.

Very gently, he ran his fingers over his brother's face from forehead to chin. Dean attempted to bat him with his left hand, not using the hand Sam wanted. So, he tried again. He got the same reaction. Starting to wonder if Dean was, in fact, asleep, Sam tried one last time. His grin widened when his brother brought his right hand up, slapping his face with his palm, smearing white foam all over his skin.

"What the hell," he grumbled causing Sam to jump to his feet, nab the shaving cream off the floor, and scurry away from his brother. He was just entering the bathroom when he heard his brother's snarled, "Sam!" Giggling, he put the shaving cream back and retreated to his room. It was a tie game now…

_**Supernatural**_

Dean was the first to wake up; he had made sure he was. While his brother slept in dreamful bliss, the older Winchester was putting his revenge plan into action. He headed to the quickie mart not far from Pastor Jim's place, wandering the aisles until he found what he was looking for. The cashier had given him a weird look when he purchased the item, no doubt wondering what he needed it for. He just gave the guy a smile, paid him, and hurried out of the doors.

Once home, he slipped into their bedroom and over to Sam's bag. His brother did a horrible job hiding his shampoo, Dean finding it at the bottom of his bag. Letting out a barely audible snicker, he unscrewed the shampoo's cap. Slowly, glancing back to make sure his brother was still out, he poured his newly purchased item into the bottle. Once he was through, he replaced the shampoo into its rightful place and headed out of the room.

He was attempting his math homework when his brother finally woke up. Sam grunted as he passed: towel, shampoo bottle, and body soap in his hand. Dean held back a smile, erasing the third wrong answer he had written down.

He gave up on his algebra after another couple seconds, getting to his feet and heading toward the bathroom door. The sound of the shower hit his ears, making the fifteen-year-old chuckle as he headed toward his and Sam's room. He sprawled across his bed, snatching a car magazine from the bedside table, and began reading an article he had been meaning to get to.

He was halfway through a third article in the magazine when he heard his brother yelp in surprise. That surprise turned into anguish, Pastor Jim calling Sam's name as he rushed toward his voice. Dean threw his magazine onto his bed, racing out of the room to follow the older hunter.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Jim called from the closed door, knocking softly.

"I…I'm losing my hair," Sam's voice called back, muffed. Dean couldn't control his laughter, grabbing hold of the doorframe to keep himself standing as his whole body shook.

"Who's…? Did Dean do something," Sam's voice screamed.

"I think so," Jim replied sounding mildly irritated. It wasn't like the Pastor to get upset with the boys, but Dean had a feeling it wasn't in his job description to deal with things as trivial as a prank war.

"What? I just slipped some Nair into his shampoo," Dean said trying to sound as nonchalant as he could through the laughter that threatened to take over again. Jim sighed, hanging his head in frustration.

"I hate you," Sam screamed through the door. "I really, really, really hate you."

"No more pranks, Dean," Jim said throwing a weary look at the older Winchester. "Sam," he called through the door. "Dry off so we can take you to the barber. See if we can salvage some of your hair."

The door flew open, revealing Sam. He was wearing a towel around his body, his left hand holding a glob of hair. There was a patchy spot on the left side of his head, making the younger Winchester look like an animal with mange. He stalked past his brother and Jim, slamming the door to his and Dean's room when he reached it.

"I mean it, Dean. No more pranks," Jim said in his quiet voice.

"Yes sir," Dean muttered never able to ignore a direct order, no matter how it was delivered.

"Good. Let's just hope your brother doesn't need to have his head shaved. I don't think that'd make him that happy." And as Jim disappeared into the kitchen, Dean couldn't help it. He let out another laugh, sliding to the floor. It was the perfect prank to end the war. Or so he thought…

_**Supernatural**_

There was a plate of brownies sitting on the kitchen table. It had been twelve hours since the Nair thing. Sam had had to have his hair cut shorter than Dean wore his, making him look strange. Dean had gotten so used to seeing his brother's hair long and shaggy, any other hair style just seemed wrong somehow.

The brownies looked good, really good, and they smelt even better. Figuring Jim or one of his neighbors made them, he headed toward the plate. He grabbed a couple, sitting down at the table. He ate both brownies in about three bites each, grabbing a third seconds later. They were better than he thought; whoever made them knew what they were doing.

He stood up, grabbing a forth, and heading into the living room. He settled onto the couch, turning the television on, and started tearing small pieces off the brownie and devouring them. Once he was finished, he grabbed the remote from the table and started flipping through the channels. He stopped on a _Happy Days _rerun, watching Fonzie hit on a girl next to the jukebox at Al's dinner, leaning against the machine in the cool manner Dean had been trying to replicate since he was ten. Sometimes he wished Fonzie was real, or that he wrote a book on picking up chicks.

He was enjoying the episode, until his stomach made a gurgling sound. He froze, wondering what the matter was. A second later his stomach gurgle again, worse than before. He pushed himself to his feet, racing toward the bathroom.

Once he was situated on the toilet, he relived himself, the gurgling getting progressively worse. After what felt like hours, which probably wasn't more than a few minutes, he started to feel better. He was pretty sure he was done, but when he tried to get up he found that he couldn't.

"What the…?" his voice trailed off when he heard someone laughing from behind the bathroom door. "Sam, what did you do?"

"Jim keeps superglue in his desk drawer," Sam said through a fit of laughter. "I thought, once you ate my brownies, you'd have to use the bathroom."

"You jackass, Jim told us no more pranks…"

"It's payback for the Nair," his brother grumbled sobering up quickly. "Besides, Jim told _you_ no more pranks. He didn't say anything to me."

"Touché," Dean said and both fell silent. The older Winchester tried, once again, to pull himself from the toilet seat, but gave up after a few seconds. "Look, can we call a truce?"

"Are you sorry for the sugar and the Nair?"

"If you're sorry for the laxative brownies and the shaving cream," Dean called back

"Okay, truce…"

_**Supernatural**_

It was a side of his brother Sam never wanted to see: his butt. It took an excessive amount of nail polish remover and pulling, but Dean's body finally parted with the toilet seat. Sam was pretty sure skin had been left behind, quite possibly some blood. It was mean, sure, but so was the Nair.

They sat on the couch, Dean having been using the bathroom less and less since he first ate the brownies, both finishing up some homework they had, when they heard the familiar growl of the Impala pull into Jim's driveway.

"He's home early," Sam commented closing his history book.

"Rather he be early than late," Dean replied, once again giving up on algebra. Sam knew his brother hated the subject, there was no doubt about it, and wondered why he just didn't ask for help. Of course, it was Dean. He rarely asked for anyone's help.

The backdoor opened, John's heavy boots walking across the kitchen floor. They could hear him set his shotgun on the kitchen counter, heard the kitchen sink turn on as he washed his hands. There was a few seconds of silence, then their father appeared in the kitchen doorway munching on something in his hand.

"These are some damn good brownies," he said looking up at his boys. "Did Jim make these?"

"Dad wait," both Sam and Dean exclaimed getting to their feet. Sam knew there was something they had forgotten to do…


	3. Vowing to be Different

**Louisville, Kentucky 1998…**

"I still can't believe Dad is just letting you drop out of school," Sam said as he followed his brother out of the motel they had been staying in for the past three weeks.

"Sam," Dean started stopping short of the Impala and turning to face his brother, "can you please drop it."

"But Dean…" Sam started but abruptly cut off when their dad exited the motel's front office, making a beeline straight for them.

"You boys ready?" John asked tossing the keys to Dean.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied snatching the keys out of the air. Sam merely grunted and headed toward the backseat.

"Sammy, why don't you sit up front," John said grabbing his son's shoulder before he could get in the car. "I want to catch some Z's."

"Okay, Dad," Sam said. Leaving the door open so his dad could get in, he headed toward the front seat. It took a little under a minute for all three to be back on the road, years of always being on the move having their departures down pact.

After fifteen minutes of almost complete silence, most of the noise was Dean mumbling the words to whatever classic rock song happened to be on, a loud snore filled the car. Sam glanced up from his book-something he had purchased at a flea market a few days ago- and glanced back at his dad. He waited a good two minutes, just watching his father, before he stared ahead again and closed his book.

"Don't start, Sam," Dean said seconds before the younger brother could open his mouth.

"But Dean, you can't quit high school. You have like three months to go."

"Sam…" Dean started wearily. Sam had a feeling he was wearing his brother down. It was only a matter of time before he began talking. "Sammy, listen. I can guarantee I'm probably not going to pass my senior year this year, either. I mean, I missed a lot of days of school."

"So did I," Sam argued.

"True, but you were also able to catch up on your homework. Hell, you could probably do my homework if you were really motivated." Sam opened his mouth, "And no, that was not an offer," only to close it after Dean's comment. "It's just, school isn't for some people. And I'm one of them."

"Dean, that's a load of bull," Sam said quietly. "You aren't stupid, and I know you could ace any of those classes if you put your mind to it."

"I could also be helping dad instead of spending seven hours in a frigging classroom."

"Is that all you care about? Hunting?"

"I care about keeping you safe. Putting more planning into a hunt, more time, will guarantee that when the hunt finally comes along. Besides, you're almost fifteen. You don't need me to watch your back at school anymore. I mean, you took out that bully at Truman all on your own."

Sam had a vivid memory of beating Dirk up. It didn't feel right, using what he had learned to take down a common bully. He should have been able to rationally talk to him, try to get through to him. Instead, he had used violence and quite possibly made that Dirk kid really and truly pissed at the world. Or the beating altered him and he would leave kids like Barry alone. But Sam had a feeling it was the former instead of the latter.

"That's not the point. I mean, come on. Don't you ever think about a life outside of hunting?"

"Honestly, not since I was sixteen," Dean said keeping his eyes locked on the windshield. He flipped on the wipers as it began to rain, drops landing on the glass only to be swiped off.

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. His brother had given up completely at a semi-normal life. Their father had succeeded in squashing any and all thoughts of normalcy from Dean's head. It was like all Dean was programmed to act like was nothing more than a hunter or a protector and it wasn't fair. At that moment, Sam couldn't help but feel a little angry at their dad.

"It's not fair," he whispered feeling tears burn his eyes.

"What was that?" Dean asked glancing over at him.

"It's not fair," Sam repeated a little louder, glaring out the window. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes, catching any stray drops that may have fallen.

"That's how life is sometimes, Sammy," Dean said misinterpreting Sam's declaration. "It's just the way it goes."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence not long after. Sam kept his eyes locked on the passenger window, watching the scenery fly by. He just couldn't believe his family. Couldn't believe how much one bad moment in their past could screw up so much. And damn it, it wasn't fair. Silently, he vowed to himself that he wasn't going to let their dad keep him locked in this life. He was going to get out. It was like his English teacher Mr. Wyatt said, "_Live the life you want to live."_ And with or without his father's approval he was going to…

_**SUPERNATURAL**_

**I realize the ending is a little shaky, but I couldn't quite figure out how to end it. So, it sort of just ends. So, I hope you enjoyed it regardless of the ending and I really would like to know what you think.**

**Bye…**


	4. The Great Race

**Hey, what up? This chapter wasn't my first idea, but when this popped into my head I had to totally write it. I hope you like it.**

**I would appreciate a review afterward, thanks, and I really hope to catch you in the next chapter. Thanks for reading and PEACE…**

_**Supernatural**_

**Lincoln, Nebraska, 2000…**

"Give me a break. What makes you even think Batman can take Superman out," Sam said following his brother across the street.

"Um, all Batman has to do it pick up a kryptonite rock, throw it at Superman, hit him, and then knock him down. Once that four-eyed, freak of nature is down Batman can easily take him out," Dean replied knowing his argument was logical despite what Sam was going to say.

"Dean, you do realize that's cheating, right? Besides, how the hell is Batman going to get kryptonite?"

"Dude, first off, it's not cheating, it's leveling the playing field. And second, how does anyone in those comics get kryptonite? I mean, come on, Superman came to earth during a meteor shower. A meteor shower, might I add, that was full of kryptonite. All Batman would have to do is drive to Smallville, grab some rocks, and attack Superman while he was working at the Daily Planet as Clark Kent. I mean those characters in Metropolis and Smallville may not be able to distinguish Clark and Superman-they are dumbasses by the way-but I know Batman can."

"Dean, Batman and Superman are friends. Why would Batman even consider taking Superman out?"

"Sam, please. Everyone knows Superman is an arrogant prick with his fancy alien powers, the giant S on his frigging torso, and his gay, red cape and his tights. Batman would be doing the world a favor without Superman. I mean, half of Superman's enemies are alien and the other half is Lex Luthor…"

"Lex Luthor is one guy Dean," Sam pointed out exasperated.

"Yeah, one tough ass mofo."

"Why are we even talking about this, anyway?"

"You said you didn't want to talk about hunting, so we aren't talking about hunting."

"Yes, but this has got to be the stupidest conversation we've ever had."

"You picked Superman when I asked you who your favorite superhero was. I mean, you could have picked The Flash, Aquaman, Green Arrow, Hawkman, Wonder Woman…" Dean trailed off for a second, his eyes unfocused.

"If I'm right, your head just went to a place where most priests would be afraid to trek," Sam commented nudging his brother to bring him back to reality.

"What? I mean, have you seen Wonder Woman? Lynda Carter in her red, white, and blue outfit. She's like the Daisy Duke of the superhero world."

"I wonder about you sometimes, bro," Sam said shaking his head. Dean just threw him a grin and continued walking.

They had been staying with Caleb for a few days. Their dad was waiting for word on some parts for the Impala, a broken radiator causing Dean and John to push the car the last seven miles to Caleb's while Sam steered. It sucked, seeing the Impala out of commission until it could be fixed, but it sucked more to be stuck cooped up in Caleb's house.

So, to stop Dean's constant complaining Caleb sent both him and Sam out to do errands. They were stupid, trivial errands that a six-year-old could do, but it was a chance for the middle Winchester to get outside so he wasn't about to bitch about it.

"Can we talk about something else? I mean, we aren't exactly twelve, anymore."

"Fine," Dean grumbled looking around for anything to talk about. He spotted an old, red Volkswagen Bug and said, "Red slug bug," while he punched his brother in the arm.

"So, now we're ten?"

"Come on, it was just sitting there. You can't expect me _not_ to punch you."

"Jerk," Sam muttered.

"Bitch. Hey, I bet I can spit farther than you."

"What?"

"Spitting contest."

"Um, no thanks."

"You are so boring," Dean complained shoving his hands in his pockets.

"And you are twenty going on eight," Sam retorted coolly.

They lapsed into silence, a light, autumn breeze blowing past them. Dean let his mind wander for a moment, remembering when Sam was younger. His brother would have wanted to talk about superheroes for hours on end, laugh and try and spot another Volkswagen to get Dean back for punching him, and would have definitely agreed to the spitting contest. Of course, he was a grown-_more like overgrown, since last summer_-teenager. He didn't want to do childish things anymore. In a way, it was a little depressing.

They turned a corner, the local grocery store a good fifteen or twenty feet from them, when inspiration struck Dean. He stopped abruptly, Sam continuing to walk a few steps past him before realizing his brother wasn't walking anymore.

"What?" Sam asked retracing his steps back to Dean.

"I'll race ya," Dean said looking from his brother to the grocery store and back.

"What?" Sam questioned a slow smile spreading across his face.

"From here to the store. Loser has to carry all the groceries back to Caleb's."

"Dean, that's stupid…" the words were barely out of Sam's mouth before he started running.

"Cheater," Dean screamed at him, but chased after him regardless.

For the first few feet, Dean was right on Sam's heels, trying to pass him. He had a feeling if Sam hadn't of tripped over his big feet he would have continued to lag behind. But, growing three shoe sizes in a year pretty much made people clumsy, and Sam stumbled. Taking the advantage, Dean passed his brother and shot toward the store. He turned his head to laugh at Sam, who was struggling to catch up, and completely missed the telephone pole until he slammed head first into it.

He saw stars as his body crashed into the cement and knocked the air out of him. Pain shot through his skull, causing him to grab his head. When his hand hit the newly developed bump across his forehead, he couldn't help the almost silent hiss of pain. He heard a pair of feet pounding toward him, and a body fall next to him.

"You okay?" a familiar voice asked. Dean opened his eyes, unaware when he had closed them exactly, and looked into his brother's worried face.

"What happened?" he asked looking around.

"Um…" was Sam trying to fight a smile? "Well, um, you kinda, sorta hit a telephone pole."

"Are you kidding me?" Dean asked as the last few seconds before he hit his head played back in his mind. He did, in fact, slam head first into a telephone pole. He felt like such an idiot.

"Um, no." his brother was still trying to hold in a laugh, despite still looking worried. Dean never wanted to punch Sam so bad in his life.

"Is he okay?" someone asked sounding concerned.

"Do you need me to call an ambulance," a second voice questioned.

"God no," Dean snapped pushing himself to his feet. That was all he needed, explaining to an EMT that he had a concussion because he was an idiot and challenged his brother to a race. Not only that, he was the moron to turn his head, while running, and hit a telephone pole. He'd pass, thank you. Besides, it was bad enough he had to explain it to his father.

So, even though his head was killing him, he was a little wobbly, and on the verge of falling over he stormed away from the concerned bystanders. He heard his brother apologize and quickly chase after him.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked catching his arm as he started to tilt.

"Yeah," Dean replied pulling out of his brother's grasp.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Really, because you've stopped walking." And Sam was right. Everything was moving except him. Then he was tilting again, Sam grabbing him before he fell. As much as he'd rather walk on his own, he had a feeling he wasn't going to be able to.

"You cheated," Dean grumbled stumbling over his own feet.

"I know," Sam mumbled pulling Dean's arm over his shoulder.

"And you thought Batman cheating was a bad thing."

"Yeah, well at least Superman doesn't have to worry about running into a pole," Sam replied. And it was the last restraint. Dean felt, more than heard, his brother start laughing. It started as barely suppressed giggles, turning into full blown, barely able to breathe cackles.

"You… you ran into…" Sam could barely get the words out, he was laughing so hard. "…into a telephone… telephone pole."

"Shut up," Dean snapped not feeling so good.

"Wait until… until Caleb hears… hears about this. He's going to… to totally give you… you shit." Yeah, Dean was definitely not feeling too good. He was about to tell Sam to stop moving, he was going to hurl, but when he opened his mouth nothing but that morning's breakfast came out. All over Sam's front. That sobered his brother up pretty quickly.

"Sorry," Dean muttered unable to hide a smile. Yeah, now he felt better…


	5. In my Time of Breaking Down

**Dean said a quote in the pilot ('**_**In almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing') **_**and this is my take on what that meant. This is also written under the assumption that Sam went to Stanford at eighteen and not twenty.**

**It gets a little out of my comfort zone by the end, but I tried it anyway. I hope you enjoyed it.**

**Anyway, thanks for the few reviews, the alerts, and I hope to catch you in the next chapter.**

**And remember: I own nothing…**

_**Supernatural**_

**Jefferson, Wisconsin, 2004…**

He should have known something was up when John didn't return after thirty minutes. It didn't take that long to get food. But Dean had figured his father got caught in traffic or something. It was snowing pretty hard outside; just one of the downsides of stopping in Wisconsin in the middle of January.

But when thirty minutes turned into an hour and when an hour turned into two, Dean's worry jumped several notches up to panic. He had to be wearing a hole in the rug as he paced back and forth, dialing and redialing his father's number, getting no answer.

"Come on, Dad," Dean muttered listening to the phone ring and ring and ring until John's voicemail picked up for the fourth time, "_This is John Winchester. Leave me a message_."

"Dad, please call me when you get this," he said before snapping his phone shut. He threw his phone on his bed, letting his fist clench and unclench at his sides as he continued to pace.

There was a possibility it was nothing, maybe John really was stuck in traffic and unable to hear his phone. Or, his father could be hurt. His vehicle could have hit some black ice, went into a ditch. John could be bleeding, unconscious, and far from getting himself help. He could freeze to death without help, or bleed to death. As much as Dean hoped for the former, a nagging part of him knew it must be the latter.

He had to sit down, his head swimming from the shallow breaths he was taking in. Dean knew how close he was to hyperventilating. He leaned forward, his head between his knees, and began taking slow, deep breaths to calm himself down. He was mostly calm when his phone rang.

"Dad," he answered in an almost breathless voice.

"Uh, are you Randall Marlow?" a woman's voice asked. It took Dean a moment to realize she was referring to his alias of the week. An alias he had clearly forgotten while he was on his downward spiral of worry.

"Y…yes," he whispered tightening his grip on his phone.

"Mr. Marlow. I'm Nurse Simpson from County Hospital…" he was pretty sure Simpson continued to talk, but Dean wasn't listening. His panic had taken on a mind of its own, embracing him like a long, lost relative. This was one call Dean had been dreading, the call that pretty much meant his father had… had… permanently abandoned him. First his mother, then Sam, now his father; of course, Sam wasn't gone, gone. He was just in California…

_Sam_, Dean's shocked brain managed to throw at him. He had to call Sam, had to tell him. Had to…

"Mr. Marlow," a voice practically screamed, making Dean jump and tune back into what the lady was saying. "We need you to come down to the hospital."

Of course they did. They needed him to identify his father's body, let them know that they didn't make a mistake. But in a way they did. They wouldn't know John as John Winchester, but as Richard or Raymond-Dean couldn't remember exactly which name his father had used-Marlow.

"Okay," he replied through numb lips. "Okay," he repeated in a whisper. The nurse hung up a few seconds later, oblivious to Dean's despair. What did she care anyway? She didn't know John from Adam or Eve. Hell, she probably thought he was just another lazy, stupid drunk who was driving in the snow, regardless of the danger. _She knew nothing, not a damn thing,_ Dean thought bitterly. _She doesn't know what kind of man he was. She doesn't know how much he really cared for Sam and me…_

Just thinking of Sam made Dean's stomach clench, his heart stutter. He had to tell his brother, had to call him. He would love to actually speak to Sam, but his brother hadn't been picking up lately. In fact, Dean was pretty sure the last time he spoke to Sam was a week after he left for California. It was basically a message telling Dean that he had made it, he was safe, and they'd talk soon. That never came. But despite Sam's petty attitude, his anger toward their father, he deserved to know. So, Dean scrolled through his contacts and hit send on Sam's number…

_**Supernatural**_

**Palo Alto, California**

Sam was just stepping into his dorm room, running a towel through his hair, when he heard his phone beep from his desk. He raced toward it, figuring Brady or one of his other friends had called. There was a party, but he was too busy that night to really go, and they were probably wondering where he was. Plus, Brady had been trying to set him up with one of his friends from Econ, but Sam wasn't a big fan of blind dates and was trying to avoid him until his friend tracked him down in person.

He read the **one missed call** message across his screen and checked who it was. It wasn't who he expected, far from it actually, especially since Sam hadn't exactly called him in a while, okay, more like a few years, despite every message he ever received from him. He had been meaning to get around to it, really, but what do you say to your brother after avoiding him for three years? There really wasn't much to say. Even an apology wouldn't help, not really.

Sighing, wondering if his brother either dialed wrong or drank a lot and called, Sam dialed up his voicemail and put the phone to his ear. It took a second, but finally his brother's voice filled his ear. There was something off about it, really off, enough to scare Sam. "_Sammy, hey,"_ the message started, "_Um… how are you? Damn, this is hard. Uh, D…Dad was…look, it's Dad. And…" _a choked sob hit Sam hard. Dean just didn't show that much emotion, regardless of the situation. "_Um, we're in Wisconsin… I…I don't even remember what part… I just needed to…"_ And then Dean hung up.

"No, no, no," Sam whispered needing more information. What about their Dad? Was he in trouble? Was he hurt? Or was he…? No, Sam couldn't think that way, but it would explain why Dean was showing any type of emotion at all. Normally, he'd keep it all bottled up, drinking too much to forget about it. But it would be insane to think like that. John Winchester was too stubborn to permanently 'check out.'

Sam, however, had to be sure. So, as he grabbed a pair of jeans up off the floor he called Dean. The phone rang once, twice, then the voicemail picked up, "_Calling me was probably the highlight of your day (especially if you're a woman), but I couldn't quite make it to the phone. But don't fret; I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Or you can call me back, take your chances."_ The phone beeped and Sam said, "What the hell is going on? Call me, please. I'll be there as soon as I can, but I need to know where you are. Dean, call me." He hung up, yanking his jeans on. He grabbed his _Stanford University_ hoodie off the back of his desk chair, threw it on, grabbed his shoes from under his bed, and headed toward the door.

He opened it just as his friend Becky was about to knock. She took one look at Sam's face and said, "What's wrong?"

"Am I that transparent," he said pushing past her and closing his dorm door.

"When you look white as a ghost and about ready to throw up, I'd say 'yeah,'" she replied following him down the hall.

"Um… I just…." He trailed off when his phone rang. He tried to keep from dropping his shoes while he attempted to answer his phone, but one managed to fall from his grasp and land on his foot. Ignoring the pain in his big toe, he finally managed to answer, "Dean?"

"_Yeah, it's me_," Dean said sounding slightly better than before.

"What's going on? Where are you?"

"_Don't worry about it, Sammy. Dad's just got a concussion. He's fine_."

"Was it from working?" Sam asked ignoring the worried, questioning looks Becky threw him.

"_No, he was getting food, hit a patch of black ice, crashed his truck into a tree. He's fine, just a concussion, like I said. I just overreacted when the nurse called. I thought…"_ Dean took a shuddering breath, letting his voice trail off. Sam understood the silence without explanation. He, too, thought the same thing even if he refused to really think it. Their lives were full of risks, no wonder Dean was such a wreck when he first called.

"Hey, no problem. Do you need…?"

"_No, stay in California. It's alright. He's going to be fine." _It was the third time Dean said those words, almost like he had to convince himself, not Sam, that their dad was okay_. "I just thought…_" Dean's voice trailed off again. He sounded like he was so close to breaking down, sounded so fragile. It was probably the most emotions Sam had heard from his brother in a long time.

"Yeah, I know. Are you sure…?"

"_Stay at school. J…just thought I'd call… You know_…"

"Thanks."

"_Yeah_…" and Dean hung up. It was the longest conversation they had had since Sam left, and it ended without either saying '_good-bye_.' It sucked how strained their relationship had gotten over the last few years, really and truly sucked. There were several things Sam could do about, for starters asking his brother to come down to California with him, but he knew Dean would never abandon their father. It just wasn't in his genetic make-up.

"Who was that?" Becky asked handing Sam back his shoe.

"No one," Sam said heading back down the hall, back toward his dorm room.

"I thought you were headed out," Becky called before he could unlock the door.

"False alarm," Sam said quietly before disappearing back in his room. He closed the door on Becky's confused face…

_**Supernatural**_

**Jefferson, Wisconsin**

Dean let himself back into his motel, closing the door gently behind him. He looked around the place, taking in the mess that had developed over the past three days. Slowly, needing something to do with his hands, he started cleaning up, shoving his stuff back into his bag, putting weapons back into their bag. His father had managed to keep the majority of his stuff in his own bag, so there wasn't much of John's to pack. There was only his journal on the table and a book full of Latin exorcisms sitting on his bed. Dean put the Latin book in his father's bag, but froze when he picked the journal up.

He remembered an eight-year-old Sam reading the tan, leather journal, asking if monsters were real. He remembered getting assigned a new creature every night, getting as much information on it from the book as he could before his father quizzed him. He remembered assigning Sam a different creature from the book, exactly as their dad had, and seeing how much he could remember. He remembered trying to write like his father as he read the pages over and over in that book. One book, so many memories.

As much as he missed his brother, as much as he wished Sam would never had left and screwed up what little family they had, he was really grateful he wasn't there that night. Not only would Sam want to talk about it, but he would also see his brother do something he hadn't done in a long, long time: He cried.

It wasn't a single tear either, not even two, but full on sobbing. He slid to the floor, hugging his father's journal to his chest as he drew his knees up. He realized he had a lot to cry about. He could have lost his father tonight, came so very close. His brother wasn't there anymore, but in California living the 'apple pie' life he always wanted. His mother was gone, lost to him before he could even grow out of needing her. So many things, each one pulling at his heart, trying to yank it in several different directions.

It went on for a good ten minutes, ten minutes too long if you asked him later. At that moment, though, too exhausted to really move, he merely fell to his side. He couldn't remember exactly the last time he cried like that, his brain probably being kind and blocking it out. He really hoped it blocked this time out, too.

Having a feeling it wouldn't, not really, he felt his eyes start to droop. As they slid closed, sleep beckoning him, his father's journal practically crushing his chest, his last thought was, _I never even said good-bye to Sam..._

_**Supernatural**_

**Look I realize sometimes it's hard to review something. You don't want to sound too mean, but you don't want to let it be full of white lies. I get it. But it would be great if you guys/gals would review this chapter. I have a feeling it's a tad OOC for Dean, and I really want to know if I'm right or not. So please review.**

**Thanks…**


	6. Sometimes Sharing Isn't Always Good

**Before I get begin, I want to say that every chapter from here on out takes place during the show. I promise there will be minimal to no spoilers in each chapter (this is just me being overly cautious, I'm sure you've all seen at least seasons one-four) and I promise I will point them out before each chapter. Thanks…**

**Anyhoo…**

**This was not my original idea for this chapter, but Cararook asked for Big Brother Dean, so I gave it a shot. I hope you like it. And if anyone else has a request for a chapter, I'll be happy to hear it and take it into consideration. Hell, I'll probably write it. There are only a few things I won't put Dean and Sam through.**

**Also, I realized something as I wrote this. I am not very good at Big Brother Dean (this is one of four versions of this chapter). I just can't go long without hurting him. Not that I can't hurt Sam, too. Oh no, I can totally do that. But I just need to even out the playing field with those two. If one's hurt, the other has to follow. It's one of my obsessions. And I totally followed that pattern with this chapter. I had to, sorry. Of course, they aren't exactly hurt in this chapter… Read and See.**

**Anyway, I have to go. Thanks for reading and reviewing and alerting, I own nothing, and I hope to hear from you.**

**See ya…**

_**Supernatural**_

**Baraga, Michigan, 2006…**

They shared practically everything. After almost twenty-three years of being in each others' company (save for the four Sam spent at Stanford), twenty-four hours a day, every single day it was kind of a give-in. Dean knew for a fact that he had three of Sam's tee-shirts crammed into his bag, had actually found a pair of his jean's in Sam's bag when he was doing laundry. They shared soap, shampoo, toothpaste, a toothbrush (once when Dean lost his; Sam still didn't know) shaving cream, Sam's razor (again, only when Dean misplaced his): Practically everything. It was easier than spending much needed money on two of the same item for each of them.

Sharing with his brother didn't bother Dean too much. He had grown accustomed to it over the years and really didn't give it much thought; except when they shared illnesses. Being in close quarters they were bound to make each other sick. That, too, was a give-in. When Sam was five he and three other kids from his kindergarten class contracted the Chicken Pox from a boy named Anthony, two days later Dean caught it. When Dean was twelve he had gotten Strep from a girl named Amy, Sam came down with it barely thirty-six hours later. The flu, colds, anything remotely contagious was given to one brother by the other.

So, when Dean caught a cold on their last hunt (a vicious water wraith that decided that six degrees was the perfect temperature to pull someone into icy water. In hindsight, he should be lucky he just got a cold. It could have been a lot worse: pneumonia worse) he wasn't surprised when Sam came down with one a couple days later. Or, it started out as a cold: the whole sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching-_best sleep you've ever got with a cold medicine_. Then it escalated into something worse.

A rattling, chest cough woke Dean from his light slumber. He pulled himself from the hard, metal chair the motel offered for dining in the small kitchenette. His neck ached, his back ached, his head ached, but none of that really mattered as he moved from his resting place to his brother's bed.

Sam's face was flushed with fever, his normal tan complex having long since forfeited to a sickly grayish hue. He had managed to kick his covers off, the blankets sitting in a heap on the floor. The last Dean checked, had to be thirty minutes ago, his brother was running a fever of 101. There was a possibility it went up, Dean almost reached for the ear thermometer he had set on the nightstand earlier, but froze when he realized he was probably just worrying a hole in his stomach. But it never hurt to check… It was still 101.

He put the thermometer back, turned his head to the side, and let loose a wet sneeze into the nook of his arm. If his cold would let up this would be a lot easier, but it was as stubborn as he was and seemed to be in it for the long haul. He sneezed twice more, nearly hacked up a lung, and pulled a package of _Halls _from his pocket. He popped one in his mouth, put the lozenges away, and got to his feet.

"Dean?" a small, weak, un-Sam like voice said. Dean glanced down at his brother, hazel-green eyes trying to focus on him but not quite managing it.

"What's up, Sammy?" Dean said quietly, lowering himself back onto Sam's bed, again.

"I'm…" a hacking cough interrupted Sam, enough to make him wince in pain. "I'm thirsty," he managed to rasp out once the cough subsided.

"Okay," Dean murmured running a hand through his brother's hair before getting to his feet. He headed over to the kitchenette's sink, filling up a glass with water. He almost grabbed a couple Tylenol, but decided against it when he remembered Sam had taken some barely two hours ago. That was all Dean needed, having his brother OD on pills while suffering from the worst case of the flu either Winchester had had since Christmas of '88.

"Here," Dean said setting the glass on the nightstand, pulling his brother up so he could slide behind him to keep him from slumping over. He grabbed the glass of water, helping his brother take a sip. "I think you should eat something before you go back to sleep."

"Not hungry," Sam replied leaning his head against his brother's shoulder, his eyes began to droop.

"Hey, hey," Dean said lightly shaking Sam and receiving a small, barely audible groan. "I know you aren't hungry, but at least try some chicken broth. Just a little."

"Fine," Sam grumbled trying to pick his head up. It seemed to have other plans, finding Dean's shoulder to be the most comfortable thing on the planet, and just wouldn't move no matter how many times Sam tried to lift it.

"I've got it," Dean said pulling himself out from behind his brother, propping Sam up with his pillows and the two from the other bed. "How's your head?" Dean headed toward the small stove, opening the cabinet above it for a small pot. It was the only pot the motel offered, Dean having cleaned it several times over the past two days, and only twice because he used it.

"Hurts like hell," Sam replied around a cough. "But it was worse before the Tylenol." Dean had a feeling Sam was fibbing a little, down playing his pain, and wished for once Winchesters weren't so damn proud. He couldn't help his brother if he didn't know exactly how much pain he was in.

Dean dropped two chicken flavored cubes into the pot he had just filled, turning the stove on. He lowered the fire, placing the pot over the blue flame. He grabbed a spoon from the sink's strainer, sitting it next to the stove for easy reach. He once again sneezed in the nook of his arm, left the stove for a second, blew his nose with a Kleenex from the bathroom, washed his hands, and returned to the stove. He stirred the water, watching the cube slowly break apart, listened to his brother cough.

His throat tickled, another coughing fit threatening to overtake him, but he fought it. Once Sam was asleep, he'd take something else for the cough. The _Halls_ quit working a while ago or just hated him. Dean wasn't sure.

The broth was done, the water boiling. Dean turned the stove off, taking a mug out of the cabinet. He poured the chicken flavored water, found few pieces of silverware in the left drawer, grabbed the first spoon, and headed over to his brother.

"Eat this," Dean said nudging Sam awake. He handed him the broth, making sure Sam's hand had the handle before letting it go. He handed him the spoon, noticing the shaking of his brother's hands, and sat down in his chair.

"We've gotta get your fever down," Dean commented leaning back in his chair, the front legs leaving the ground. Sam didn't answer, just attempted to drink the broth without spilling any on himself. He managed two spoonfuls, two more than last time, and tried to put the mug on the bedside table.

Dean caught it before it fell, broth spilling from the lip, burning his hand. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, sitting the mug down. His brother flashed him a semi-apologetic look, his eyes beginning to droop again.

"Let me move these." Dean stood, gently pulling the pillows out from behind his brother. He helped Sam lie back, watching as his eyes fell shut. It didn't take long for his little brother to go to sleep: soft, wheezing snores filling the room. Dean grabbed his blankets off the floor, throwing them back over his brother's slightly shaking form.

He ran a hand through his hair, scratching the back of his head. The coughing fit he had been holding back hit him hard seconds later. He bent over, hands on his knees, trying to breathe around the hacking coughs. His vision tunneled slightly, snapping back into focus when the fit passed. He grabbed the water off the nightstand, avoided the edge where Sam drank, and downed the lukewarm liquid, replacing it once finished. He sneezed again, twice more, nearly fell, sneezed again. He never wanted to kill something so much in his life.

He settled on his bed, elbows resting on his knees. He rested his head in his hands, eyes locking on the ugly, mustard yellow, carpeted floor. He was tired, sore, sick, but his problems were miniscule compared to his brother's. He was pretty sure he'd be fine until Sam got better. Once Sam was better, he could concentrate on getting rid of his cold. It's not like he had the flu or anything.

The heater kicked on, a low buzzing filling the room. Sam's wheezing breaths merged with the sound, along with the traffic from outside. It was like some ghetto lullaby, washing over Dean, not helping his fight to stay awake. And as much as he fought, as much will as he put into staying awake, it did no use. He was asleep seconds later…

_**Supernatural**_

He woke to a painful, chest deep cough. He sat up, rubbing his chest, ignoring the spikes of pain going through his body for sleeping half off the bed, half on. He glanced over at Sam, who hadn't moved from his original spot since he went to sleep a few… Dean checked his watch, his eyes widening. They had both been asleep for almost six hours.

"Crap," he whispered pushing himself to his feet. The room swayed dangerously, nearly brought him back onto the bed, but he managed to keep his balance. He figured it was because he got up too fast, his equilibrium was off or something, and pushed it to the back of his head.

He settled onto Sam's bed, resting his hand on his brother's forehead. Sweat smeared across Dean's hand, a sure sign that Sam's fever had broken sometime in the middle of the night. Sure enough, when he used the ear thermometer seconds later, the device flashed 99.2 back at him. _Thank God,_ he thought gently nudging his brother to wake him.

"No," Sam whined swatting at his brother.

"Sammy, wake up," Dean said shaking Sam's shoulder again.

"Leave me 'lone," Sam grumbled turning away from Dean.

"You've slept enough. Come on, get up."

"Fine."

It brought a smile to Dean's face, trying to wake his brother up. It reminded him of when they were younger, when Sam didn't want to get up at four-thirty to do their morning run, and when Dean had to coax him into getting up. It's not that Dean really wanting to get up that early either, anytime before seven was too damn early and needed to be shot. But John wanted them up that early, so Dean was up that early.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked blood shot eyes, dark, purplish shadows underneath, locked on Dean's face.

"Nothing," Dean said quickly. "Your fever broke."

"I know," Sam replied sniffling. "You okay? You look worse than I feel."

"I'm fine," Dean said getting to his feet. The room spun again, sending Dean back onto Sam's bed.

"Fine my ass," the younger Winchester snapped, reaching for the ear thermometer. He managed to grab it on the third try, pushing himself up to lean against the headboard.

"Don't you dare," Dean snapped moving his head before Sam could check his temperature.

"Hold still."

"No."

"Dean, stop…"

The older Winchester slid off his brother's bed, falling to the floor. He cracked his elbow against the nightstand, his arm going numb. While he rubbed his elbow, he felt the thermometer enter his ear.

"Damn it, Sam," he growled hearing the beep indicating the temperature reading.

"100.2," Sam read setting the thermometer back on the bedside table. "You're sick."

"I'm fine," Dean grumbled pushing himself to his feet. He sank onto his bed, resting his head in his hands, wishing his balance would stop going out of whack. Because that's what it was, his balance was off. He wasn't sick.

"Maybe you should get in bed," Sam suggested pushing his blankets off of him.

"And I think you should stay in bed. You've had the flu for two days."

"Yeah, and you're coming down with it. Lie down or I'll make you."

"How do you plan to do that?" Dean asked, but still pulling his legs onto his bed and lying back.

"I'll sit on you."

"You're not six anymore," Dean complained feeling his brother pull his boots off.

"Which happens to be an advantage for me. Back then, you could easily push me off." Dean was drifting again, not exactly sure when he had become so tired. "Whereas, now, I could probably pin you down without a problem."

"Yeah, right," he whispered something running through his hair. It felt pretty good, not that he'd repeat those words aloud.

"Just go to sleep. It's my turn to take care of you." was the last thing he heard before he was pulled back into sleep. He'd worry about being manly when he woke up, after he punched his brother for giving him the flu…

_**Supernatural**_

**I realize I didn't mention their father much. I guarantee this chapter takes place before he dies, but I just couldn't quite think how to incorporate him. Sorry if that disappointed you guys**

**Bye…**


	7. Sharing Secrets with Dr Bobby

**Yes, I know both this chapter and the last occur during the same year. So, don't tell me because I know.**

**Anyway, this chapter takes place right after **_**Crossroad Blues**_** so expect some spoilers from that. Not a lot (I hope) but still some. There are also very subtle spoilers for episodes from season one and the first eight episodes of season two. Just warning you now.**

**Anyway, thanks for the alerts and reviews last chapter, especially the anonymous reviewers. And Cararook, I'm glad you liked the last chapter. Thanks for the idea.**

**Anyway, I hope you like this new chapter, I have mixed feelings toward it, and I hope to catch you in the next chapter.**

**I own nothing remotely recognizable.**

**Bye…**

_**Supernatural**_

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota, 2006…**

Sam slammed the door, storming away from the Impala and up Bobby's porch steps. He didn't want to deal with his brother right now. He couldn't without contemplating killing him. He heard the Impala back up, kicking gravel back as it squealed back toward the highway. Let him go drink his beer, hide from this argument, Sam didn't care.

He knocked on Bobby's door with his left hand, clenching his right into a fist as best he could despite the cast. He waited one second, two, finally an outline appeared and Bobby answered the door.

"Hey Sam." Bobby was always happy to see him and his brother. It was kind of sad, not in a pathetic sort of way but sad nonetheless. He was lonely enough to look forward to the Winchesters' company, not many people would admit to that. Implication or otherwise. "Where's Dean?"

"He's… where ever the closest bar is."

"It's one in the afternoon," Bobby commented checking his watch.

"Well, you know him. If he's not drinking, he isn't happy. Can I come in?"

"Yeah. You want a beer?" Bobby headed toward his kitchen before Sam could reply, calling over his shoulder, "You wanna tell me what you two are arguing about?"

"It's nothing…" Sam said following the older hunter. He peeled his jacket off, throwing it across the back of a chair before settling in it.

"Nothing, huh? I was sure you broke the Impala's window with how hard you slammed the door." Bobby opened the fridge door, pulling two beers from his fridge. He closed it with his hip, crossing the room to the table.

"It's just this job we were working…" Sam accepted the beer, the cap coming off a little too easily. He knew Bobby took precautions, thirty-plus years of hunting made the older man paranoid. So, he was never surprised when his beer always tasted watered down. It was something he had gotten used to over the years.

"What about it?" Bobby asked sitting across from Sam. he popped his own cap off, letting it fall to the table. It spun in a quick circle, teetering back and forth before coming to a stop in the middle of the table.

"We thought we were dealing with a black dog, turned out to be a crossroads demon…" Sam trailed off, taking a sip of holy water beer. He lowered the bottle and continued, "The demon laid out some harsh truths for Dean, truths he had already believed, and…"

"And what?" Bobby was curious; he always was when it came to Sam and his brother. Like a parent.

And in retrospect, he was the only father substitute they had. Sam couldn't count Jefferson or Joshua because he hadn't seen them in forever. And he couldn't exactly label Caleb or Pastor Jim either, both being dead and all. Bobby was pretty much all him and Dean had left for advice and guidance. And he really needed advice and/or guidance right now.

"Bobby, the demon… she offered him a deal."

Bobby lowered his beer before it could touch his lips, his eyes widening slightly. Sam couldn't tell exactly where his head went, but had a pretty good idea. It probably went to the same place Sam's did when Dean told him. The same questions were probably circling, the same doubts, the same everything. But Sam couldn't be sure.

"Did he…?" Bobby started hoarsely. Yep, it went to the same place.

"No, he didn't."

"What was the deal?" Bobby asked sounding mildly relieved. Sam, too, felt relieved when Dean told him he didn't take the deal. He didn't seem that relieved when he asked if his brother if he considered it and didn't get an answer.

"The deal…" Sam cleared his throat, taking another drank of beer. He had to prepare himself for this. "The deal was to pull Dad from Hell for Dean's soul." Sam let it sink in, the realization that their suspicions were right. Dean had always thought their Dad made a deal to save him, but to have it confirmed, by a demon no less, was probably the most heart breaking thing that could happen to him.

"You mean… Shit." Bobby didn't know about the boys' speculations. Not that he didn't have his own; Sam would be surprised if the seasoned hunter didn't. It was Bobby, he wasn't stupid, and he probably figured it out the moment Sam called, half hysterical with grief and guilt, telling him their dad died. And Sam didn't admit that lightly.

"So, Dean declined the deal. But when I asked him if he considered it… Bobby, if you could have seen the look on his face…

"My brother contemplated going to Hell. Who the hell does that?"

"Well…" Bobby trailed off, the unspoken words clearly louder than they could have been if actually spoken. Their dad would consider Hell; he had gone to Hell, just to save one of his kids. Desperate people chose to go to Hell. And selfish people. Desperately, selfish people.

"So, I figure Dean needs to talk about this," Sam continued draining his beer. "I mean, it's unhealthy to bottle up all these emotions. But every time I tried to talk, he kept turning his music up louder and louder, keeping me from having a semi-civilized conversation with him, until the speakers crapped out. This resulted in him blaming me, which sparked an argument, finishing with him heading off to the closest bar and leaving me here."

"My company that bad?" Bobby asked a hint of amusement in his voice.

"No," Sam said quickly, reassuring the older hunter. "Never, Bobby." He started absently spinning his bottle cap between his fingers, watching it spin in a quick circle. "It's just… If he would just talk to me."

"Sam, you know your brother. In his short, twenty-seven years, how many times has he shared any emotions with you?"

It didn't take much thinking to answer, none really. Sam could count on one hand how many times his brother opened up to him. Each time ending the same way. Dean, talking for a good six seconds, then shutting completely down. Even when he opened up, he never really opened up.

Dean had his secrets, Sam would be the first to admit it, but some secrets should be shared with another person. One person could only carry so much on their shoulders before it got to be too much. It was one reason Sam finally told his brother about his visions.

"Sam, no offense, but your daddy made your brother grow up too fast. He made him start to bottle up emotions. John would always tell him "_Boy, hunters don't cry, hunters don't show emotions. They get the job done and leave it at that._' And Dean took that lesson to heart. Hell, he took all of Johnny's lessons to heart."

"Yeah, Bobby, I know. What's your point?"

"My point is that the only hero your brother ever had was your dad. The only person your brother would ever consider looking up to was John Winchester…"

"Yeah, I know."

"So, if a demon is going to offer him a deal, to bring back your father, do you honestly think Dean wouldn't think about it? Hell, would you have turned it down without hesitating?" Sam knew the answer to this, no question about what he'd say. Of course he'd consider it, but he knew he'd never take it. Their dad would rip him a new one if he said 'yes.' Dean would rip him a new one if he said 'yes.' But he had a level head about it, or as level as his head could be when he wasn't still seething over what their father did to Dean. Dean didn't.

He was grief stricken with the knowledge that their dad was in Hell because of him. That whatever kind of torture was being inflicted on the great John Winchester was because of him. That he would never get to see their dad, hear his voice, get his advice because of him. It was probably by sheer will that Dean said 'no' at all. And those facts were like tiny swords to Sam's heart. Like a million soldiers from Lilliput decided to attack him all at once… And that is what he got for watching _Gulliver's Travels_.

"You're right, Bobby," Sam said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I guess I'm just being…" Sam let his voice trail off, not really wanting to call himself a girl, but knowing that's exactly where his words were going.

"Your usual self," Bobby supplied with a smile, getting to his feet. He collected the empty beer bottles, taking them to the trash. "And you're damn right, I'm right." He threw Sam a small smile when he turned to face him. Sam forced a return smile, his mind still preoccupied to really put forth any real effort.

"Hey, it's okay to worry about your family. Especially with a brother like Dean. If I had a brother like him, I'd keep him locked in the basement." That time Sam did smile, shaking his head slightly. "But you can't push him. Dean'll come to you when he's ready. Just remember that."

Sam nodded watching as Bobby left the room, patting Sam's shoulder in passing. Of course the older hunter was right; there was no point in pushing Dean. It would just end in another argument, maybe another punch to the face, maybe worse. Sam just needed to be patient, something he could do. Yeah, he could totally do that. Patience is a virtue… or something like that. So, he'd take his virtuous patience and wait Dean out. He did it before, he could do it again.

_**Supernatural**_

There was a loud crash, waking Sam from a light sleep. He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, to see a dark silhouette push himself to his feet. At first, he believed it was a demon until a familiar, slightly slurred voice said, "Who put that there?"

Sam swung his legs of the couch, getting to his feet. He crossed the room, flicking the light switch on to reveal his brother. Bloodshot green eyes squinted against the light, a pile of books scattered across the floor.

"Dean?"

"Sammy," Dean's voice echoed off the walls, making Sam rush toward him shushing him. "Stop shushing me."

"Bobby's sleeping," Sam said under his breath.

"Why, it's only…" Dean tried to check his watch, his eyes unable to really focus on the hands. "What time is it?"

"Why don't you sit down," Sam suggested as his brother started to list to the side. He grabbed Dean's arm, guiding him to the couch.

"I did some thinking." Dean sat down, leaning his head against the back of the couch.

"That's never good." Sam smiled, sitting next to his brother.

"Shut up. But I did some thinking. You're right, I almost said 'yes.' I felt the words on my lips. But I couldn't do it. You know why?" Sam shook his head, unable to speak. "Because I chickened out. I couldn't undo something Dad did, even though he's dead. I mean he had to of had a reason, right? Right. I mean, he wouldn't just save me without a reason. Do you know the reason?" Dean glanced at his brother, or at least tried to. His eyes still wouldn't focus despite his attempts.

"Why don't you go to sleep," Sam muttered knowing there was no point in answering Dean, he probably wouldn't remember this conversation in the morning.

"Is it because I screwed up? Did he have to fix my mistake? It couldn't be because he loved me or anything. Yellow-eyes told me you guys didn't need me, not like I need you. His voice, Dad's voice, is always up here." Dean pointed to his head, almost poked himself in the eye, but still managed to get his point across.

"No, it's not because of that. You made no mistakes for Dad to fix. Dad made the deal to save you because he loves you. And don't let any demon let you think differently…" Sam trialed off when he heard a snore. He glanced over, his brother listing to the side, out cold. He stood, pulling Dean's feet onto the couch. He pulled his boots off, along with his jacket, and deposited the shoes under the desk and the coat on top. Sam sank into the desks' chair, running his hands down his face.

If he really thought about it, it was Sam's mistakes that caused their dad's death. If only he paid attention when he was driving his father and brother to the hospital. If only he shot John when he was asked to. If only, if only.

But if it really came down to it, if he really thought about it, their dad was as much at fault. He selfishly made that deal, not even thinking of Dean's emotional state. It was all a confusing mess their dad left them in. A large, stinking mess. And Sam couldn't think of any way to fix it, not without making a deal himself. Something he couldn't do, not to Dean, not when he was like this.

Dean turned over on his side, his pale face catching in the moonlight from the crack in the drawn curtain. He looked so young in sleep, so very vulnerable. It was hard to believe he was so burdened, let himself bottle up so much. But in a way it's what their family did, like an unspoken requirement to be a Winchester. _Must bottle up any and all emotions_. Their Dad was guilty of it, Dean was definitely guilty of it, and Sam couldn't quite feign innocence either…

Maybe Dean was right, maybe he did think too much. Even his friends at Stanford told him he lived in his head too much. It's not that he didn't want to talk, he did, but it was kind of hard when no one wanted to talk back. Or had no idea what he was talking about. And he sounded like a total girl just then. God, he needed to get a hobby.

_**Supernatural**_

Sam was standing by the counter, filling Bobby's coffee pot with some coffee, when the older hunter walked into the room. He stopped, his eyes locked on Sam.

"Good morning," Sam commented leaning against the counter. Bobby was still dressed in his pajamas: a pair of sweats and an old gray shirt. His eyes still hadn't left Sam's face.

"What?"

"Your brother is asleep on my bathroom floor."

"Yeah, I know. He got in last night…"

"Dean's not a teenager; I don't care what he did. But I need to take a shower and he's not making it very easy," Bobby replied crossing his arms.

"Why don't you use the upstairs bathroom?"

"I have to replace the shower head in the upstairs one. Downstairs has the only functioning shower. So, if you could move…" Bobby trailed off when stumbling footsteps trudged down the hallway toward the kitchen. "Never mind," he muttered turning to leave. Halfway out of the room, Dean appeared and Bobby said, "You better have sprayed after you threw up."

"Good morning to you too," Dean murmured falling into the closest chair. The oldest hunter sniffed once before leaving the two brother's alone.

"Coffee'll be done in a moment," Sam commented crossing his arms. Dean grunted, burying his head in his arms to block out the sunlight coming from the kitchen window. "Dean, about yesterday…"

"Can we _not_ talk right now?" Dean interrupted, voice muffled.

"Fine," Sam replied turning back to the coffee maker. He watched the pot fill slowly with steaming, dark liquid. The kitchen was silent, except for their breathing and the gurgle of the coffee maker. Finally, turning, Sam said, "You want some eggs?"

"Maybe later. Besides, the last time you cooked, I was pretty sure the smell of burnt eggs was never going to leave the motel room. And you weren't even making eggs."

"Shut up, I've gotten better."

"Thanks, but I'd rather not spend the day with food poisoning, along with a hangover." Dean looked up, throwing his brother a weak smile. Sam returned the smile, turning his attention to the coffee pot again.

It wasn't much of an apology, okay it wasn't even in the ballpark of apologies, but Sam had a feeling they would be okay. At least for now. Because knowing them, they were bound and determine to have another fight in the near future. It was inevitable. But until then maybe they'd talk about a nice, safe subject: Baseball.

Yeah, they'd talk about baseball…

_**Supernatural**_

**Honestly, I have never seen Dean drunk. So, I have no clue what he'd be like. So, if it's sorta **_**un -**_**Dean like, I apologize. And I realize the line about Sam being 'half hysterical' when sharing the news of their father's may not exactly sound like him. But it was his father, and he did kinda, sorta find him dead on the floor of a hospital room sixteen seconds after nearly arguing with him and seeing him alive and semi-well. So, I decided to go with 'half hysterical.' (**nods head**) And if you don't like, well I'm sorry to hear that. **

**Anyhoo let me know what you think.**

**See ya…**


	8. American Idol for Hunters

**First, this is stepping totally out of my comfort zone. As much as I loved certain episodes in season 3, I wasn't a huge fan of the outcome. I was so convinced they were going to keep Dean alive that when Kripke killed him, I couldn't believe it. I mean, he was a main character, and they killed him. Of course he came back and we all know how that turned out, but still. He didn't need to die.**

**Secondly, this is written for **_**Rising Sun**_**. She asked for a birthday based story, and I was more than happy to write it. So, thanks for the idea and I hope you enjoy it.**

**And third, the karaoke aspect of this story was written so I can picture Sam singing some Cyndi Lauper. And Dean belting out some Pat Benatar was just a bonus. And if you don't like the songs that your prerogative… **_**Is anyone else thinking of Bobby Brown right now**_**? Plus, I read another karaoke story, I just can't remember who wrote it, and loved it so much. So, I had to write my own. Plus, I watch **_**The Singing Bee**_** when there's nothing else on and those people on that show make me appreciate the fact that I never do karaoke.**

**Anyhoo, I love every song mentioned in this story. I've seen **_**Grease**_** and **_**Rocky Horror Picture Show **_**so many times that I get yelled at for singing the songs. Of course, I normally sing them at inappropriate times… or when I'm doing the dishes.**

**As always I own nothing. There are a couple spoilers for season three, but just up to the Christmas episode. And they aren't exactly huge or about to ruin any episodes. ('Overly Cautious' should be my middle name or something.) : P**

**So thanks for the reviews for last chapter, I hope you enjoy this one, and I really hope to hear from you all afterward.**

**Bye…**

_**Supernatural**_

**Leaf River, Illinois, 2008…**

It was the time of year Sam had been dreading. Ever since Dean made the deal, ever since he put his head on the chopping block for Sam, it was the day that had been looming in the back of his mind. And now it had come: Dean's twenty-ninth birthday.

Sam didn't want to think about this birthday, the last one his brother would have, but he knew he couldn't exactly ignore it either. So, begrudgingly he had to ask Dean what he wanted to do. It was his day, he deserved a semi-good birthday. The last one he had was when he was four; it was twenty-five years in the making.

"What?" Dean asked glancing over at Sam, making the younger brother realize he was staring a little too intently.

"Nothing," Sam responded dragging his gaze to the window. He couldn't ask, it would be too weird, and since Christmas he really didn't want to 'celebrate' another last for his brother. It just wasn't something he liked doing.

"Come on, you can't stare at me like a particular interesting piece of research and then expect me to believe it was nothing."

Sam rolled his eyes but said, "It's just today…"

"Yeah," Dean said slowly, his eyes pinned to the windshield.

"I was just wondering if you wanted…"

"This isn't prom, Sam. Just spit it out."

"Do you want to do anything special?"

"I was joking about the prom thing. Besides, you're not exactly my type."

"Dean," Sam protested-he wouldn't admit he whined-feeling his face heat up slightly. "I meant about your birthday."

"Well," Dean started hesitating for a second. "We did Christmas; we don't have to worry about my birthday." It was a brush-off, a polite brush-off, but one nonetheless. Dying or not, Dean still hated being singled out for birthdays. So, Sam was going to respect his wishes. Not fighting about it seemed to be the best birthday present Sam could give him.

So, he opted to say, "Okay," and left it at that.

_**Supernatural**_

Dean let his eyes drift across the night sky, glad that it had finally stopped snowing. After three days of driving in the crap, it was a nice change to see stars. In fact, it was borderline relaxing.

He smiled slightly, eyes roaming across the car to land on his brother. Sam was asleep, a thick, dusty book lying at his feet where it had fallen from his lap, hand lax at his side, mouth hanging open slightly. His shaggy hair fell into his face, head resting on the passenger side's window. It was the most relaxed Dean had seen his brother in a long time.

He let his eyes snap back to the windshield, thinking about what Sam had asked earlier that day. About Dean doing something for his birthday. Truthfully, Dean hadn't exactly thought about it. Christmas was one thing, something him and Sam could share, but a birthday. It just wasn't the same. Nor had they celebrated their birthdays much in the past. The last birthday celebrated was Sam's eighth, and it wasn't exactly the most fun they could have had. Especially when they spent a majority of it in the hospital, being treated for food poisoning. It was a long story; one Dean did not like remembering.

Of course, that was about seventeen years ago, and Dean hadn't booked himself a one way ticket to Hell, then, either. And it's not like they had to treat this day like Christmas, nothing could top Christmas. Dean could barely remember Christmas, that's how fun Christmas was. Especially after downing a good portion of Sam's eggnog. That was the gift that kept on giving the next morning.

It must have been fate's way of telling him to celebrate his birthday, the sign he spotted. Because it was enough to bring back memories. Now, he really wanted to take Sam up on his offer. And it wasn't like anyone was competing that night; it was just a couple locals blaring out their favorite songs. They had to stop.

He nudged his brother awake as he pulled into _Mel's Bar_'s parking lot. There were a few cars, a couple bikes (not motorcycles, but real, pedal bikes) and a mo-ped parked in various positions. Dean parked next to an old, two door Honda, and said, "I decided to take you up on your offer."

"What?" Sam asked groggily, rubbing sleep from his eye and looking blearily around. When his eyes caught sight of the sign he sighed and said, "Really?"

"You asked me if I wanted to do something special. Seeing as we aren't close to Mexico, I figured we could do this."

"And what were you planning to do in Mexico?" Sam asked honestly curious.

"Impregnate a few locals, kill something evil, get piss poor drunk, and maybe take a nap." Sam rolled his eyes at the response. "But seeing as we aren't close to there, we could do this."

"But Karaoke? I mean, Dean, we haven't done this in years."

"Please Sam? It's my last year, my last birthday…" Dean knew he was playing the guilt card, the same card he had played on several occasions. And no matter how many times Sam told him he wasn't going to be affected by the guilt card anymore, he seemed to always agree to whatever Dean wanted to do in the end. And tonight was no exception.

"Fine, but same rules apply." And his brother pushed the Impala's door open, letting in cold air, and got out.

"Okay, but nothing too girly," Dean called turning the ignition off and quickly following.

Karaoke was how Dean had gotten Sam over his fear of performing in front of others. When Sam was little, six or seven, he would avoid anything remotely presentable in school. Kids did a project to share with the class; Sam would shyly stay in the back and let the others present his findings. They had a play to do; Sam would ask to be in the back ground, helping with sets. Whatever the thing, Sam would try to duck out.

So, to help him, Dean started dragging him to karaoke nights at any rec center that happened to be putting one on, in the town they were in, if one happened to be close by. And the only way Sam would even participate is if Dean did it with him. Which is when they made up the rules, three simple ones they followed every time: Can't change the song, can't change the words to the song, and must sing it all the way through. Easy enough to follow, unless you were stuck singing Disney songs every time.

As they grew older, and Sam became more and more familiar with music, and the rec centers became bars, they started trying to get the other to break the rules. That meant girly song, after girly song. It was fun, trying to one up each other, and Dean could remember singing Britney Spears' _Hit me Baby one more time_, Spice Girls' _If you Wanna be my Lover_, and Bananarama's _Venus. _His best performance, if he did say so himself, was Michael Bolton's' _How am I Supposed to Live Without You?_

Not that Sam didn't have his fair share of embarrassment, either. He had to sing Sandy Olsen's solo: _Hopelessly Devoted to You._ He had also belted out Rizzo's solo: _There are Worst Things I Could Do._ The most memorable was a red faced, seventeen year old Sam, singing Frankenfurter's _Sweet Transvestite. _It got the most applause, more than the chick screeching out some Christina Aguilera number…

Realization dawned on Dean, his habit of picking musical numbers made him sound more like a girl than Sam. _Shit that smarts a little,_ he thought with a small shake of his head.

The bar wasn't too packed when they stepped in, but it wasn't exactly empty either. Someone was already singing Heart's _Barracuda _up on the stage: a large, blonde headed woman. She was pretty good, but the original singer was better. Dean scoped the area, looking for the tech guy who ran the karaoke equipment and kept track of the singers. He found him, sitting in the darkest corner, nose buried in a book, using a small flashlight to see.

"You go first, Samantha," Dean said flashing his brother a smile.

"Fine," Sam replied heading over to the guy. Dean watched as his brother got the man's attention and spoke for a second. There was a lot of pointing, the guy following Sam's finger to lock eyes on Dean. A look of understanding crossed his face and he smiled. It was a quick conversation, ending with Sam smiling back and heading back over to Dean.

"Go ahead," he said throwing his brother a smile.

"Fine," Dean replied and heading across the room, avoiding a couple dancing and a drunk guy singing along with the blonde. Once he reached the table, he realized the book guy was already waiting for him.

"What's the song for your brother?" he asked sounding slightly entertained, a smile crossing his face. Dean gave the guy the song, not taking the time to talk like Sam had, and quickly retraced his steps back to his brother.

They settled at the bar's counter, waiting for their turn. Dean sipped his beer as he sat through people singing bad Zeppelin, even worse Rush, and a pretty good version of U2's _Beautiful Day._ Finally, two beers later, he was up.

The book guy bounded onto the stage, clapping along with everyone else, and said, "That did Bono justice. Great job, Klyde. Now, let us welcome a new comer. He and his brother are about to sing two crowd favorites, let's see which backs out first.

"And without further ado, Dean Arnold."

"Arnold?" Dean whispered throwing his brother a quick look.

"There was a _Hey Arnold_ marathon on the other night. It was the first name that came to mind." Sam's face flushed red at the smirk Dean threw him. His brother watched cartoons like a little kid. "Just get up there."

"Okay, okay." Dean headed toward the stage, a few girls giving him looks of longing, almost lust. A few guys, too, but he ignored them. It was all for the ladies.

"Have fun," the book guy said, handing Dean the microphone. He jumped off the stage, heading back to his little table in the corner. He started the music a second later, flashing Dean a smile. It was quiet for a second, and then the tune started playing.

The beginning was a guitar, the words appearing on the screen a moment later. Dean couldn't help rolling his eyes, but still he sang: _"Your love is like a tidal wave, spinning over my head. Drownin' me in your promises better left unsaid. You're the right kind of sinner, to release my inner fantasy. The invincible winner and you know that you were born to be…_

"_You're a heartbreaker, dream maker, lover take don't you mess around with me. You're a heartbreaker, dream maker, love taker don't you mess around-No, No, No._"

He crossed the stage, listening to the crowd cheer after the first verse. He glanced back at the screen as the song continued: "_Your love has set my soul on fire, burnin' out of control. You taught me the ways of desire, now it's takin' its toll. You're the right kind of sinner, to release my inner fantasy. The invincible winner and you know that you were born to be…_

"_You're a heart breaker, dream maker, love taker don't you mess around with me! You're a heart breaker, dream maker, love taker don't you mess around-No, No, No."_

He spotted Sam sitting at the bar, trying hard not to laugh, still nursing his first bottle of beer. Dean just had to finish this song and then Sam's turn would come. Plus, despite the song, he was enjoying himself. The words appeared again and he quickly continued: "_You're the right kind of sinner, to release my inner fantasy. The invincible winner and you that you were born to be…_

"_You're a heartbreaker, dream maker, lover taker don't you mess around with me. You're a heartbreaker, dream maker, lover taker don't you mess around with me. You're a heartbreaker, dream maker, lover taker don't you mess around with me. You're a heartbreaker, dream maker, lover taker._

"_Heartbreaker!" _he held the note for a few seconds, cutting off as the music started to die down. The crowd broke out in applause; Sam's trying to hide the disbelief that Dean just finished a Pat Benatar song. Dean couldn't help throwing his brother a 'what's up' nod as he jumped off the stage and headed toward him.

"You're turn, Sammy."

_**Supernatural**_

"That was a lot better than the Ron's version of _Black Dog_," book guy said as he bounded up onto the stage. Sam couldn't believe he had agreed to this, he didn't want to sing a song in front of people. But this was Dean's birthday, and he wanted to do this, and it was his last year on earth. Besides, how bad could Dean's song be.

"Let's see if Dean's brother can top that. Sam, come on up." Sam took a deep breath, downed the rest of his beer, and stood. He started toward the stage, vividly aware of about thirty eyes on him. Even he could go back to his stage freight days; no matter how many times Dean made him do this.

But he was going to do this. He wasn't going to lose. He carefully stepped onto the stage, accepting the microphone from the tech guy. The guy threw him a quick smile and headed back to his booth. A few seconds later the song started.

It took a second for the lyrics to appear, the beginning a pop beat, one that made him scoff slightly, but finally it was his turn to sing. "_I come home in the morning light, my mother says when you gonna live your life right. Oh mother dear we're not the fortunate ones, and girls they want to have fun. Oh, girls just want to have fun." _Sam wasn't much of a singer, in fact he sucked, but he wasn't about to let Dean win this game. So, he put more force behind the words as they started up again, "_The phone rings, in the middle of the night. My father yells what you gonna do with your life. Oh Daddy dear, you're still number one, but girls they want to have fun-un. Oh, girls just want to have…_

_ "That's all they really wannnnt. Some fuuuunnnn. When the working day is done. Oh girls-they want to have fun. Oh girls, just want to have fun." _his face was burning red, he could feel it, but he wasn't going to quit. He couldn't quit. "_Some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world. I wanna be the one to walk in the sun. Oh girls, they want to have fun. Oh girls just wanna have fun._

_ "That's what they really wannnnt. Some fuuuuuuun. When the working day is done, girls-they want to have fun. Oh girls, just wanna have fun. They want to have fun. They have to have fuuuuuuun." _The music started to fade, Sam acutely aware that he was still holding his note. Once the music ended, he stopped and the crowd was quiet for a second. He actually thought he bombed it for a second, and then they started clapping. A few girls flashing him kind smiles.

He nearly dropped the microphone, bounding off the stage as fast as he could. Dean was laughing, holding onto the counter for support, when Sam joined him. He fell onto a stool, mumbling to the bartender for another beer.

"Cyndi Lauper you ain't, Sammy," the tech guy commented a few seconds later. "But it was entertaining all the same.

"Next up, Susan with a little ZZ Top. At least, we hope." Susan, a tall red headed woman, threw the tech guy a glare as she got up on the stage. She accepted the microphone from him, and waited until _La Grange_ started playing.

"We'll call that a draw," Dean commented sitting next to his brother and ordering another beer, too.

"I can't believe you picked that song, Dean," Sam mumbled draining half his beer in one gulp.

"You picked Pat Benatar."

"True, but that song…" Sam hated that song, he had to listen to that song sixteen times a day his freshmen year at Stanford. The girl down the hall from him would blast it all the time and her screeching voice would drill through his head while she sang. He was glad when the RA banned the song from the floor after several people complained.

"Oh you enjoyed it. Your tone deaf of a voice belting out the song, holding the notes when you were suppose to. Hell, you barely looked at the screen."

"Neither did you," Sam commented remembering when his brother was singing. Dean glanced at the screen once or twice, but otherwise his eyes were locked on the audience.

"Cassie may or may not have liked Pat Benatar," Dean mumbled, his face reddening slightly as he took a drink of beer.

They were quiet for a few seconds, Susan's high pitched voice enough to make them wish they had earplugs, when Dean said, "Wanna go again?"

"Um, no."

"Oh come on. Another Lauper song for you. What is another Cyndi Lauper song?" Sam knew the answer, but he wasn't going to share it with Dean. He'd just get called a girl and he really didn't need that now.

"Here," he said instead and pulled something from his pocket, slapping it down on the counter in front of his brother. Dean looked down, quiet for a second, before he picked up the small, wrapped package.

"It's not an engagement ring, is it? I'd be flattered, but I'm definitely not interested."

"Just open it," Sam said averting his eyes from his brother and taking another drink of beer. He heard paper tearing and then the soft **plop** of a box lid hitting the counter. It was quiet for a second then Dean said, "Where did you get this?"

"Found it in Dad's journal the other day while I was cleaning it out." Sam still didn't look at his brother, concentrating on finishing his beer.

"Well, thanks," Dean said slowly. Sam watched in his periphery as his brother pocketed it, keeping his eyes glued to the counter.

"Wanna go?"

"A few more beers won't hurt," Dean responded. "Plus, Susan's starting to finish up."

"Okay." And they continued to drink, listening to increasingly bad singers, half already drunk, butchering some very good songs (even though the lyrics were right across the screen). People bewildered Sam more than anything else, but they weren't people if they weren't a little confusing.

_**Supernatural**_

It was well after midnight when Dean lead his brother out of the bar, humming the last song that was being sung. Green Day's _Nice Guys Finish Last._ He wasn't a fan of Green Day, actually he hated the band, but he couldn't get the song out of his head. Plus, it was sort of fitting for him and Sam. They were nice guys, but they always seemed to get the short end of the stick.

"Where's the closest motel?" Dean heard his brother ask, turning to see him talking to a couple of girls holding hands. Not in the friendship way either, making Dean wonder how many other same sex couples were in that bar.

"That way," one girl said pointing with her intertwined hand. "Three blocks from the post office."

"Third building down," her companion said before Sam could ask where the post office was. "You can't miss it. It's, by far, the biggest building in town."

"Thanks," Sam said and headed toward Dean.

"Making new friends, Sammy?" Dean asked heading toward the Impala.

"What Dean, are you upset they'll never look twice at you?" Sam retorted flashing his brother a smile as he opened the Impala's passenger door.

"Get in the car." Still smiling, Sam slid into the seat and closed the door. Dean followed, flipping the radio on the moment the door was closed. He really hoped it would help get stupid Green Day out of his head.

It took them not even five minutes to get to the motel; it would have been less if Dean didn't take the wrong turn at the post office. After a quick backtrack, he was able to find the place.

Sam had pretty much passed out the moment they entered the room, his gargantuan body hanging off the bed after he had landed face first on it. Dean chuckled under his breath, pulling his jacket off and hanging it off the chair. Sam had groaned in complaint, but otherwise didn't stop Dean from taking his jacket.

Dean took pity on his little brother, realizing that in his position he'd probably be sore when he woke, and pulled Sam onto the bed. That time, the younger brother didn't make a noise. Too asleep to even notice. That's what he got for staying up all night, trying to save Dean from his deal.

The thought of the deal had Dean taking a seat at the table, digging his hands in his coat pocket. His hand brushed the gift Sam had given him, causing him to pull it out. It was just a photo, a small, wallet sized. But the occupants were what mattered.

It was of Dean and his mother, about four months before Sam was born. She was hugging him tight, Dean resting his head on his mother stomach and looking surprised. He knew Sam had just kicked him, it was written all over his face. It had been taken by his father on Dean's fourth birthday. A much happier time. There were no worries about whether or not Mommy and Daddy would be there. Whether Sammy was going to be okay. If Hell was really as bad as everyone seemed to think. Just carefree innocence that came with being four.

Now, at twenty-nine, he was stuck with no mother, no father, and a soul hurtling straight to Hell. He had a feeling his mother and father wouldn't be happy with his soul's destination, if they were still alive. But one look at Sam, who had turned onto his side and burrowed himself deeper into his pillow, Dean knew he didn't regret the deal. No, he didn't want to go to Hell, but he was going for a good cause. And that was all that mattered…

_**Supernatural**_

**One more thing: Where was Lisa living during season five? I know it was in Indiana, but I just don't know what town. If someone could tell me that would be great.**

**Thanks…**


	9. A Taste of the Old Days

**Hi, what's up? This takes place right after **_**Yellow Fever**_** and obviously just before **_**It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester. **_**Expect small spoilers from both. And I make a reference back to season one's episode **_**Hell House. **_**I couldn't help it.**

**Enjoy**

**Bye…**

_**Supernatural**_

**Waverly, Iowa, 2009…**

They hadn't had a hunt in over a week; the last having come pretty damn close to killing Dean. It wasn't because he was afraid to hunt, their lack of a hunt (because Dean was not afraid of hunting), but because neither him nor Sam could find anything interesting. He didn't want to hunt a ghost, again not because he was afraid, but because they had already kinda hunted one… sorta. The demons were being unnaturally quiet, the angels haven't shown their heads, there were no lower level supernatural creatures running around, and he was started to get bored.

Sam had talked him into a break, a half hour of actual diner food and not take-out from some odd ball place around town. They were sitting in the furthest booth from the door, waiting for their food. The place wasn't packed. In fact, excluding Dean and Sam, there were only four other people in a diner that could easily seat fifty at the most. Three of which were the wait staff playing Scrabble at a corner table, and the forth the cook. A bell dinged and the skinner of the three waitresses got to her feet and shuffled over to the cook's area. She grabbed two plates from the counter, carrying them over to Dean and Sam.

"Double bacon cheese burger with chili chess fries," she said placing the plate in front of Dean, "and a chef salad." She deposited the second plate in from of Sam and then returned to her Scrabble game. The cook joined the game a few seconds later, taking his place next to a blonde who had been playing for him while he cooked.

"I wonder how much salad one man can eat before he becomes a girl," Dean commented taking the top off his burger and dousing it in ketchup. He added his onions, lettuce, tomato, and pickle to the ketchup before replacing the top once more.

"Eating healthy doesn't necessarily mean I'm a girl," Sam commented stabbing several pieces of lettuce and a piece of egg with his fork before shoveling it into his mouth.

"Sm, eang hathy dsn't necsly mn yul lve a log lfe, eithr," Dean retorted around a huge bite of burger. Some managed to escape his mouth, pelting Sam in the face.

"God Dean, didn't anyone ever teach you any manners?" his brother snapped wiping his face with a napkin from the dispenser on the table.

Dean swallowed before he said, "Pastor Jim tried once. It didn't go so well."

"I guess it's kinda hard to teach someone who doesn't want to learn," Sam muttered taking a drink of his soda.

"Ha, ha."

They lapsed into silence, both returning to their meals. Someone from the Scrabble game had their word questioned, her voice flitting over to the two brothers, "It is too a word. Caterize is a word."

"Bridge, it's cauterize. You need a U. You don't have a U. Pick another word." The cook said trying hard not to laugh.

"Are you sure?" the girl asked curiously.

"Bridgette it's cauterize. God, are you sure you're in college?" another woman asked with a chuckle.

"It was a lapse in memory, Cara," Bridgette snapped taking her pieces from the board.

"Guys, knock it off. We have customers," the last woman said, the blonde who had been playing for the cook earlier.

"Do you two mind?" Bridgette asked glancing over at Dean and Sam.

"Carry on," they said together before returning to their meals. Dean found it funny how they were talking about a word that was reality to him and Sam. The number of times they had had to cauterize a wound couldn't be counted on two hands. A couple of toes had to be added to the mix to get the exact number. And it was probably one of the most painful treatments either Sam or him had to have. Easily in the top five and these people were talking about it like it was just a word, part of a game. _Strange world,_ he thought with a slight shake of his head.

About five minutes later Sam stood up. Dean gave him a curious look before he scoffed and said, "I'm going to the bathroom. Would you like to join me?"

"No," Dean replied returning to his burger. As nonchalantly as he could, he followed his brother's trek to the bathroom. No matter how many times Sam told him he wasn't using his powers, how many times he promised he wasn't in cahoots with Ruby anymore, Dean still didn't quite trust him. There was still the off chance he was doing both. But what could he do? Sam was a grown up and could make his own decisions. No matter how screwed up they were and how many times Dean told him not to. Besides, Dean couldn't exactly feign innocence with his secrets either. Sam knew he remembered Hell, or suspected at least, when nightmares plagued his older brother's sleep practically every night. But those were things best kept locked up in the deepest pits of his mind. To never be explored again.

Dean sighed, putting his burger down. He wiped his hands on his napkin, glancing around the diner, not exactly hungry anymore. He wished they could find a hunt, get out of this tiny town, and maybe he'd stop thinking so much. Thinking never did his brother any good; it probably wouldn't help him in the slightest. He had to do something, anything, to get his mind off things.

And there it was. Sam's fork was sitting neatly on his napkin, waiting for his brother to get back and finish eating his 'rabbit food.' Dean glanced around the diner again, making sure Sam was still in the bathroom, and snatched the utensil off the napkin. He weighed it in his hand, unsure what to do with it. There were a couple things he had in mind, one quite possibly the nastiest thing he could do. He pushed that one aside, knowing it would cross the line, and opted to lick the fork. He quickly replaced it and went back to picking at his burger.

Sam came back not even thirty seconds later, his cell phone glued to his ear, listening to whatever the other person was saying. He sat down, Dean throwing him a curious look. _Bobby_, he mouthed before saying, "We'll check it out. Thanks Bobby." He hung up, stashing his phone back in his right hip pocket.

"What'd he want? Did he find us a hunt?"

"Maybe," Sam replied picking his fork up. Dean waited, anticipation washing over him. Instead of using it, his brother replaced it on the napkin and said, "A woman found her husband on the kitchen floor, dead. Coroner took a look at him, found razor blades in his stomach. Get this; he was eating store bought candy."

"So…"

"Bobby thinks it's a witch or something. Maybe a demon. I mean, Halloween is coming up in a few days."

"And we're gonna check it out?"

"I told him we would."

"Great, finish your salad and we'll go."

Sam gave him a suspicious look, glancing down at his salad. "No," he said slowly.

"Come on, Sammy. We aren't kids anymore. Why would I do anything to your salad?"

"Does the itching powder incident mean anything to you? We weren't kids back then, either."

"I mean it. I didn't do anything to your food. I promise." Dean returned to his food, picking up a stray fry and taking a bite. He still wasn't hungry, but he had to keep up the pretenses.

"Okay…" Sam grabbed his fork, stabbing the final bite of salad. He shoveled the remaining bits into his mouth, freezing when Dean snorted. "What did you do? Seriously, tell me."

"Whatever they put in that salad is nasty," was all Dean said glancing at Sam's fork before motioning the Scrabble table for the check.

"You are sick," Sam snapped spitting his food into his napkin. Dean laughed as their waitress walked over to their table. He was in a better mood from earlier; he just hoped it would last.

_**Supernatural**_

Sam was still peeved at his brother. Dean could act his age sometimes, but there was always the off chance he'd revert back to twelve again. Seriously, what twenty-nine year old licks his brother's fork while said brother is away from the table?

Of course, it was nice to see his brother do something like that again. Dean hadn't been Dean for a while. Yes, he'd make a few jokes, tried to become the pre-death Dean again, but something kept him from it. Secrets he wouldn't share with Sam. Maybe Dean couldn't remember all of Hell, but there were still some lingering memories. Or his subconscious was haunting him with suppressed memories. Something had to be triggering the nightmares that kept occurring nearly every night. And drinking could only get Dean so far. But if he didn't want to talk about it, Sam couldn't force him. Dean was a grown up, making his own decisions, no matter what said decisions were doing to him mentally, emotionally, and physically.

They had just pulled into the motel's parking lot, a two floor building with a pool. It was probably the nicest place they had stayed in a long time. It was a borderline hotel. Only missing the optional wakeup call, room service, and any other small or large commodity a hotel comes with. Of course, Melvin the day manager might make a wakeup call if they paid him enough. Sam couldn't be sure.

The pool was still open, it being oddly warm for almost the end of October, and Dean was closest. Sam didn't even think about it, the fork incident like a demon possessing him. He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder and pushed, sending Dean into the pool.

There was a splash, a few specks of water hitting Sam's jacket, and Dean sunk to the bottom before kicking off the floor and swimming to the surface. He was coughing when he resurfaced, blinking rapidly to get the chlorine water from his eyes.

"What…what the hell?" he sputtered running a hand across his face.

"Maybe you're not the only one who can revert to twelve," Sam said, a grin spreading across his face.

"You suck," Dean said. "Help me out." He offered Sam his hand, the appendage dripping water into the pool.

"Do I look stupid? You'll just pull me in."

"I'm calling a truce. Will you please help me out?"

"I don't see why you can't use the ladder…" Logic caught up with Sam too late, his hand already in Dean's grasp, when he was pulled into the water. He sunk to the bottom, kicking his feet seconds before he hit the bottom, and broke the surface a few seconds later.

"_You_ suck," he grumbled spitting pool water out of his mouth.

"It's your fault, anyway," Dean said swimming toward the ladder.

"My fault," Sam protested following his brother. "How is me getting revenge _my_ fault. _You _licked my fork earlier."

"Yes, but you grabbed my hand, you allowed me to pull you into the pool, so it's your fault," Dean replied climbing out of the water. Sam climbed after him, dripping all over the cement when his feet hit land.

"I… But…" okay, so there was no retort to that. "You called a truce."

"Yeah, I did." And Dean headed toward their room, his shoes making squelchy noises as he walked.

"That was cheating," Sam called chasing after him.

"I know. But it's not like you've never cheated before."

Sam shook his head, once again unable to reply properly. Yes, he had cheated before at little things. Foot races, board games, a bike race once. He learned it from Dean, who cheated a lot more, on a lot of things. It was unethical, but it was also funny to see the look on his brother's face. Good memories of better times.

Sam froze, watching his brother continue on his way. It was probably the closest they had come to the old days, when they'd just play pointless pranks on each other. Sometimes Sam missed those days, but he knew he couldn't go back to that time. It was gone, he wasn't that guy, and Dean wasn't his same older brother. Things changed, people changed. It was pointless to try and stop it.

He sighed, starting to walk again. Water dripped from his hair into his eyes, down his nose, into his mouth. More water rolled down his back, despite the layers he had on. He wasn't even sure he had any clean clothes to change into. But he guessed it was worth it. Just for a taste of the old days…

_**Supernatural**_

**I've actually done what Dean did once. Except it was with my hamburger. I had this friend in high school who weighed practically nothing but could eat Bill Gates out of house and home. He had eaten his lunch and started eyeing other people's lunches, looking for items our friends hadn't touched, when he spotted my burger. I quickly licked it because A-it was mine and B-well, I was hungry. Of course, he shrugged his shoulders and said, 'I'd still eat it.' Guys are weird sometimes.**

**Anyway, Scrabble isn't my favorite board game. I'm not very good at it despite the fact that I read all the time and writing is a hobby of mine. I'm like a walking contradiction or something. I do enjoy playing **_**The Game of Life**_**, though. That game is fun, especially with my brother. We are 'cheater, cheater pumpkin eaters' when we play that game. Plus, it gets ugly at the end. We can't lose to the other, but someone has to eventually lose, right?**

**Anyhoo, Thanks for any and all reviews, alerts, and/or support for the last chapter. I really hope to hear from you guys/gals again.**

**I've gotta go**

**Bye…**


	10. Missing One Family but Gaining Another

**I am so sorry this took me forever to post. I'm having computer trouble and have to use my uncle's spare. So, if updates are slow, blame the fact that I am computer-less.**

**Anyway, this is the end. It was written pretty quickly, but I hope it is to your satisfaction.**

**This is set after Swan Song, so expect a few spoilers from that. I really hope to catch you in the next story and let me know what you think.**

**Bye…**

**Supernatural**

**Cicero, Indiana, 2015…**

His car used to be his sanctuary, his home, the one thing he could always count on to be there. He used to slip behind the wheel, turn the engine over, and drive to God knows where in search of God knew what. He knew the smell, knew the sounds it should and should not make, knew practically everything about it. It used to be his baby.

Now, he barely touched it. He just kept it in the garage, only using it when he needed to get away for an hour or two. He would just sit in the backseat and let his mind wander. He should have sold it, but he had so many damn memories with the thing that he couldn't. Most of those memories were with Sam.

God he missed Sam. It had been five years and still he missed him. He knew that feeling would never go away, not when he practically raised the kid from six months. Not when he knew there was a way to bring him back. But he couldn't do that, he promised he wouldn't, and he stuck to the promise. For five years he stuck to the promise.

In five years he had accomplished pretty much everything Sam asked him to. He went to sporting events (but instead of football it was baseball and soccer), he went to barbeques (and talked to the other dad's-who would have known they were not as boring as Dean thought), and kept himself busy with an 'Average Joe' job at an 'Average Joe' garage. Dean Winchester had become a civ, and, truthfully, he really enjoyed it. It was actually the most relaxed he had been in a very long time.

Of course, life with Lisa and Ben made it ten times more interesting. Without them he probably wouldn't have put forth half the effort he did. Sam had made a good call, asking Dean to go to Lisa, beg her to take him back; even if it didn't take much begging to get her to agree.

There was a soft knock on the window, his head whipping around to see who it was. He could see the top of a head, a mop of curly brown hair. He couldn't help smiling as he reached over to open the door, letting in the little boy.

Samuel John Winchester was named for two of the most important people in Dean's life. He was born a year to the day of his uncle's death. He was also about as close to Sam as Dean could get without breaking some serious promises. The kid asked so many questions, on so many subjects, at the most random times, exactly like older Sam did. It also didn't help that he took after Sam-and John by default. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a darker complexion than Dean's fair skin. He did, however, inherit Dean's freckles. A spatter of them went across the bridge of his nose, almost an exact match to his father's. _Poor kid, _Dean thought with a quiet chuckle.

"Mom says dinner's ready," Sam said pulling himself into the car.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean said but didn't move from his spot.

"Whatcha doing?" Sam asked curiously.

"Thinking.

"About what?"

"Did you ever wonder how you got your name?"

"Nope."

"Would you like to know?"

"I have a feeling you're gonna tell me." his sense of humor rivaled Sam's, too. He didn't even know what sarcasm meant, but he was still full of it.

"I had a brother named Sam, and my father's name was John."

"And what happened to them? How come I've never met them? I would like to met Grandpa Winchester and Uncle Sam."

"That'll be kinda hard, Sammy. They are no longer with us." Dean fell silent, glancing down at his hands.

"That's not fair. They never even got to meet me," Sam grumbled crossing his arms across his chest.

"No, they didn't. But I know they would have liked you." Dean put his arm around his son's shoulder, pulling him against him.

"Tell me about them," Sam whispered leaning against his father. Before Dean could respond, Lisa appeared at the door and said, "Didn't Sam tell you dinner was ready?"

"Yeah," Dean said pushing the door open. He got out of the Impala, waiting for Sam to follow before closing the door. He headed around the car, closing the other door on the way. Both father and son followed Lisa into the house. Dean glanced back at the Impala, taking one final look at it, before closing the garage door.

**Supernatural**

"Go wash up," Lisa told Sam as she walked over to the stove. Sam grumbled under his breath, but did as he was asked. As he disappeared down the hall, Dean headed toward the fridge. Halfway there, he grabbed Lisa around the waist and pulled her into a kiss.

"Mr. Winchester are you trying to seduce me?" she asked with a small smile on her face.

"Depends, is it working?" Dean asked bury his face in her hair.

"We'll see," she said and pulled out of his grasp. "You mind getting the drinks. Ben! Get down here and set the table!" there was thudding on the steps and her son appeared around the corner. At sixteen, Ben had taken to dressing in darker colors and addressing everyone with a surly attitude that rivaled Sam's teenage years. He was going through, what the books called, a 'phase.' A phase that was driving Dean crazy, along with Lisa's constant badgering about 'the books.' Dean didn't need some stupid book to tell him Ben was going through a phase, he had risen a teenager, he knew what phases were. Besides, he should be so lucky it was a phase, Sam's turned into a lifelong thing.

"What?" Ben said, burying his hands in his pockets.

"Set the table," Lisa said pointing to the plates and silverware sitting on the counter.

"Fine," the sixteen year old mumbled and set to work.

"Wow, no arguing. That's a first," Lisa muttered to Dean, throwing him a relived smile. "Maybe he's getting over it."

"And maybe he's right here, listening to you talk about me," Ben snapped as he set the plates on the table.

"Ben, take a chill pill," Dean said without raising his voice. In five years he had mellowed some, figuring getting angry at little things wasn't exactly a healthy lifestyle. "You're mother was just surprised. She thought you'd tell her to set the table herself or something. She wasn't trying to insult you."

"Whatever," Ben grumbled and continued his task.

"How do you always dodge a bullet with him?" Lisa always asked the same question, and Dean always gave the same answer.

"I'm just gifted."

"Sure you are," she replied with a roll of her eyes.

They sat down to dinner not longer after, Sam complaining about this new girl in school. "I mean, she doesn't need to steal my crayons. I would be happy to let her use them if she asked."

"Sweetie, it's because she likes you," Lisa said across from him.

"But girls are icky," Sam said around a mouthful of potatoes.

"That'll change in a few years," Dean commented swirling the contents of his glass around before taking a drank.

"And don't talk with your mouth full," Lisa scolded just like every night. Dean just smiled and took another drank. As much as he missed Sam and his parents, wished they were still around, he had found family elsewhere. It felt pretty good.

"Huh, the streetlight went out," Lisa commented bringing Dean back to reality. "That's odd."

"Maybe it's the bulb," Dean said glancing out the window. He thought he saw a silhouette, but a second glance revealed nothing. He shook his head, putting his mind at ease before he could start thinking of totally supernatural related things. It was nothing, probably a bad breaker, he'd call someone in the morning…

**Supernatural**

**Thanks for all the reviews and alerts, they were great. I owned nothing remotely recognizable and I'm glad you read this. Until next time…**


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